Personal Towel
by valeriebean
Summary: How they wound up in bed together, we may never know, but herein lies Sheldon's post-coital panic attack. Rated R for the sexiness  although no actual sex . This is for all you enthusiastic commenters who requested I write more Shamy.


Sheldon sat bolt upright in bed, his chest so tight he could barely take in a breath. His hands were sticky and gross, his chest hairs matted with sweat. Shivering as the air chilled his bare skin, he crossed his arms, squeezing his ribs as if that could coax his diaphragm into moving and letting some air in his lungs. This was Amy's fault. He'd trusted her and he felt somehow she'd violated that trust. She fogged things up and spun him around, first with jealousy and then with lust. He'd make it through the seven deadly sins in no time at this rate. Sheldon wasn't sure why he lost control around her, always wanting to do things for her… and now it seemed _to_ her. His mother was going to kill him.

Amy lay on the bed next to him, naked and sexually sated. The coitus had worn them both out. In fact, he may have passed out that last time, and he figured he probably owed her some sort of apology. If not for what he'd done last night, then for what he was about to do. Slipping out from under the covers, Sheldon made a cursory scan of the floor for his clothing. He was sure they'd tossed his underpants on this side of the bed, but they weren't there now. A part of him didn't care if he had to run home naked; he just needed to get out of here and get all the sticky stuff off his body. His skin crawled like a thousand tiny ants marching in circles, waiting to bite. He'd always joked about being allergic to sex and now that he'd had sex, he figured maybe the joke was on him. The world was black and spotted and he couldn't breathe.

"Sheldon," Amy said, sitting up in the bed, letting the sheets pool around her waist. Her breasts were small and perfect, but the memory of them in his mouth made him gag—not because sucking them had been unpleasant, but because he knew his saliva had dried on her skin.

"I have to go," Sheldon said, spinning in a circle because his feet refused to go out the door until he'd found some underwear.

"Sit down," Amy said, patting the bed covers. Spunk and sweat—that was all he could see. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I'm sorry," Sheldon whimpered, edging closer to the bed, but not sitting on it. "In my head, this was a lot more sanitary."

Amy chuckled at him, nodding as though she agreed. Then she reached down into a box next to her nightstand and pulled out a clean white towel. Smoothing it over the mattress, she patted the towel this time. "Sit down my mysophobic lover. I have just the thing."

_Just the thing?_ Sheldon couldn't help himself. The air was cold, he was naked, and the towel was clean. The safe, white towel beckoning him, he sat on the bed next to Amy. Amy joined him sitting atop the covers, sitting cross-legged on the white towel and facing him. He couldn't help staring between her legs, and he tried to remember what she'd said that had made him so willing to put his mouth there.

"Personal towel," Amy said, pressing a yellow washcloth into his hand. Sheldon stared at it like the precious gift it was. His heart swelled even more when Amy pulled out a bottle and spritzed his torso with water. She smiled when he flinched, producing another washcloth from her box and dampening it thoroughly.

Starting with his lips, she cleaned around his mouth, then kissed him chastely, careful not to leave even a hint of saliva. It made his face tingle. She continued the cleansing, working over his chest, smoothing out the chest hairs, paying close attention to all the places she'd nipped him last night, reigniting the fires that had caused him to lose himself so thoroughly.

Sheldon shuddered and tried not to pay attention. He looked at the mess on her side of the room. All of their clothes had been haphazardly tossed to the floor in their haste, but strangely none were where he remembered them falling. Finally, he found their clothes. They were folded neatly on a chair, his on top of hers, ordered perfectly for redressing with the underwear and trousers on top. His shoes were lined next to hers on the floor beneath the chair, tucked neatly underneath so that no one would trip.

When had she done all this? He'd been so worn out he couldn't lift his head, and she'd tidied the room and brought him a towel, like she knew he needed it. Clutching his personal towel in his hand, he unfolded his arms, giving her access to his chest so she could complete her task. He flinched as she rubbed the towel over his crotch, but parted his legs and leaned back, not daring to say a word. He no longer felt sticky and gross.

His hands shaking, he took the water bottle from her and spritzed his personal towel until the tip was damp. Then starting at her breasts, he returned the favor, cleaning her skin, kissing the soft parts, keeping it chaste and clean. He knew he'd made a royal mess of her, and he could tell she must have cleaned herself off before she'd gone to bed. She shouldn't have had to do that alone.

"Do you feel better?" Amy asked, rubbing his back soothingly.

Sheldon shrugged. Although he no longer felt compelled to run screaming, he still wasn't sure he wanted to stay. Staying involved the possibility of repeated coital activities, and Sheldon didn't think he could handle that.

"I tried to clean you up while you were sleeping. I guess I didn't get everything," Amy said apologetically.

Sheldon felt so guilty he wanted to cry. She was perfect. So perfect. She'd thought of everything he'd need, and he couldn't think of one thing she might need in return. Reaching out, he touched her breast, pinching her nipple between two fingers until it peaked. Although he knew the biology of it, it still fascinated him that he could make it rise and fall so easily. Amy didn't stop him—didn't rush him to acceptance or force him to talk.

Rubbing her hands together, she inched closer to him on the bed so that their legs tangled. Then she reached out and put both her palms squarely over his nipples. There was something on her hands—it made his skin cool and tingly. _Please, not KY Jelly. So sticky._

"Amy stop," he begged, shrinking back. She let her hands drag down his torso, spreading the cool tingly feeling over his ribs. "What is that? What is it!" he cried, falling backwards on the bed as he scrambled to get away from her.

Jumping on top of him, Amy pinned him to the mattress, lacing her hands with his, spreading the tingly serum over his palms as well. Seemingly oblivious to his panic, she kissed him hard, wet but not sloppy, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth.

_I have a personal towel_, he kept telling himself over and over again, but it didn't seem to forestall the panic. Ripping himself free, he flipped over and tried to find his towel. Amy fell prostrate over him, banging her chin so hard against his shoulder that her teeth clacked, then sliding to one side as he shimmied away. The skin-to-skin contact set his body on fire, and his mind into a panic-ridden tailspin.

"Sheldon, calm down," she soothed, rubbing her jaw and tasting her tongue for blood. "It's hand sanitizer."

Sheldon shivered, retracting his arms to his torso. Now that she'd said it, he could smell it. It was brilliant really. Safe and clean. Possibly not the most appetizing way to prepare a patch of skin he wanted to kiss.

"This was so much cleaner in my head," Sheldon mumbled again, lying still, tangled in his white towel, clutching his yellow personal towel to his chest.

"We'll make it cleaner next time," Amy assured. "We just got a little excited and didn't plan properly. It makes sense that two people as passionate about science as we are would approach coitus with equally strong passion."

Sheldon nodded even though her logic was flawed. Not willing to sit up and betray how turned on he'd become, he pulled Amy beside him, leaving a small gap between their bodies. Then releasing his personal towel, he entwined his fingers with hers.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked diplomatically, wanting to repay her kindness, praying she did not ask for oral sex.

"I would like an honest assessment of my performance," she replied. There had never been any doubt in his mind that she would ask. He planned to make the same request, but he'd assumed they would both take time to perform individual analyses before comparing notes.

"Let's save the detailed report for a later time," Sheldon answered, rolling onto his side, and pulling her to spoon against him, no longer uncertain about letting her know how hard she made him. The fact that she'd requested the report now meant she was nervous and in need of reassurance. Although Sheldon couldn't guarantee he'd concede to another round of coitus, nothing that had happened so far had made him want to banish Amy Farrah Fowler from his life. Nuzzling his cheek against hers, he wrapped his arms around her, barely noticing how his hands fell so naturally around her breasts. Sighing contentedly, he said: "Considering how safe I feel right now, and how loved, I believe you performed admirably."


End file.
